


see you at the bitter end

by havisham



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Depression, Gen, Ghosts, Guilt, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 10:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8159068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Sirius and his ghost haunt Grimmauld Place.





	

The air was hot, stifling, and the old house seemed to soak in its heat and its resentments. Sirius stared at the wall, his feet pressed flat against the wall, thumping it in time with the music, a Muggle song that he didn't quite understand but liked anyway, liked the way the singer screeched out the lyrics. 

There was a thump at the door and Sirius’ feet skidded down the wall as he twisted around to see who was at the door, a sneer already on his lips. It was Regulus. Sirius’ expression didn't change. 

“What do you want?” 

Regulus shrugged his skinny shoulders and wandered into his room. He liked that, sneaking into Sirius’ room and _touching_ things. Mostly when Sirius wasn't there, but tonight he was feeling bolder. He peered curiously at the record, spinning in the air. He reached out to touch it when Sirius sprang out of bed and shoved him away. 

He was taller than Regulus, stronger too, but he had expected an easier fight. Regulus wouldn’t budge until Sirius had pulled him to the floor, taking himself down too. They grappled against each silently, but they were fighting in earnest. 

Sirius thought he had got the upper hand when Regulus surged forward and bit him. Kissed him. Something in between a bite and a kiss. He jerked away, startled and let Regulus go. Regulus rose quickly, dusting himself off and looking nonplussed. 

“What was that?” Sirius croaked, still sprawled on the floor. 

Regulus looked down at him, a queer look on his face, something in between a smirk and a frown. His voice squeaked when he said, “It's nothing. Did you pretend I was James?” 

“I'll kill you,” Sirius said without heat and sat up. He looked quizzically at his brother. 

Regulus turned red, slowly but surely, and turned away from his gaze and muttered, “No, you wouldn't.” 

He left then, leaving Sirius alone to consider exactly what kind of brother he had. 

*

That Grimmauld Place was haunted came as no great surprise to Sirius. To have it be haunted by the spirit of his spoiled, dead, stupid, traitorous, _whiny_ little bastard of a brother was also only to be expected. 

Regulus had not immediately shown himself, especially not in a house filled with strangers and Weasleys, but in the dead of night, when Sirius was truly alone, he heard a familiar rapping on the walls. The same as when he was small and Regulus was tiny, signaling that it was safe to come out. 

Sirius pulled a pillow over his head, ignored it. He wouldn’t allow himself to be haunted, certainly not by the restless spirit of his own-disowned brother. 

“You’re so full of it, Sirius,” came a ghostly sigh, when Regulus had apparently grown sick of poltergeist activity. Sirius hummed to himself and ignored Regulus’s ghostly sniveling. He studied his yellowed fingernails, which he’d cut hastily with a knife after Molly had said something about bringing claws to the table. 

A thin, white hand made several passes under his nose. The dust rose around him as Sirius twisted this way and that. He sneezed. Regulus disappeared. 

*

The house was empty, now. Harry -- Harry who looked so much like -- but no, no, no, Harry was his own person. Harry had been his own person even when he was small enough to fit in the crook of Sirius’ arm and piss all over Sirius’ leather jacket, smiling, toothless and guileless all the while. 

That was Harry, but so was the Harry who had suddenly grown tall and awkward, who stood stiffly when Sirius hugged him. That Harry gruffly said his goodbyes and was off, off with his friends to Hogwarts. And the Weasleys had hared off to their Burrow, and even the miscellaneous members of the Order eventually stopped coming. 

Sirius was alone with his ghosts. 

*

It was so quiet now -- besides the screaming from his mother’s portrait, but he could tune that out easily. In Azkaban, there were some who would scream and scream until the Dementors came to silence them. The silence was worse than the screams. 

Sirius slept through the mornings and into the afternoons on the days he knew no one would come to see him. Sometime in the afternoon, he would drag himself out of bed and practically roll down the stairs to the kitchens, stuff his face with carefully preserved food Molly had left. He didn't bother with a plate, or a table or chairs. He ate standing up, eyes trained at the door, teeth worrying over an obstinate crust. 

Sometimes he would hear rustling just outside the door to the kitchen. He wanted to throw it open. Stride outside, as was his right. Thirteen years and he hadn't seen the sun. The sky. A few days on the run and now he was back here, in a place he had promised himself he would never return to. 

“At least you left,” hissed Regulus’ spiteful ghost. He appeared in the corner of Sirius’ eye, his form insubstantial against the strong morning sunlight. If Sirius was doomed to be described with canine adjectives, then Regulus was vulpine, face pinched and tight, his dark grey eyes gleaming. 

“So did you,” Sirius said, matter-of-factly, and knew as soon as he said it that he had made a mistake. Regulus grinned in triumph and disappeared, taking the remains of Sirius’ breakfast with him. 

*

There was a deep line, a crease that could have been a canyon, in between Remus’ eyes. It only deepened when he looked at Sirius, so Sirius, being kind, avoided his gaze as much as he could. “Nice weather we’re having,” Sirius said instead, nodding to the window as the driving rain pelted against the glass. The crease between Remus’ eyes deepened. He looked so old. Had he always moved this way, so wary and careful? 

If Remus was old, then what about him? 

Sirius had been extraordinarily vain as a youth -- he could hardly help it, being gifted as he was by good looks and far too much charm for his own good. James always said that girls would alight in Sirius’ hands as if he was Snow White, and Sirius had preened at his words. James was never as handsome as he was, but with how Sirius felt about him, he might as well have been -- anyway. 

Now. Sirius was no longer vain. He has seen his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Hideous. Frightening. A dead man looked back, sallow skin slung tightly across bone. He ate and he ate and never gained a pound. There must have been a black hole, all-consuming, located in the vicinity of his stomach. 

Remus was still speaking. “I think,” he said carefully, “you ought to speak to someone. Someone who isn't me.” 

Sirius blinked. “What for?” 

“To talk about your experiences -- to, er, heal, Sirius.” 

“You think I'm going mad,” Sirius said, his voice rising higher and higher. 

“Aren't you?” asked Regulus, mockingly, from nowhere.

“Shut up,” Sirius growled. 

Remus was looking at him with a blank expression on his face, the one he used to hide his worry. “I haven't said anything.” 

“Well,” Sirius huffed, “don't. I'm not -- I'm not mad. Although living in this damn house might making me -- tense. Tell Dumbledore that I'd be of more use if I could get out there. Remus, _please_ \--” 

But Remus was already shaking his head. The Order was firmly against it. Dumbledore was against it. Remus was against it. 

Sirius bared his teeth and said nothing. He _was_ going mad.

“I'll have Andromeda pop in and check on you,” Remus said, later, as he buttoned up his coat, preparing to leave. The elbows were wearing dangerously thin. 

After Hogwarts, Remus retreated back into the more anonymous parts of the City. He worked in a Muggle bookstore during the days, a place, he hinted, which was wholly unlike Sirius’ dim memories of Flourish & Blotts as could be imagined. 

“What would Andromeda do?” Sirius asked, genuinely puzzled. 

“Nice to see a familiar face,” Remus said as blood suffused his thin cheeks into a sickly approximation of a blush. 

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Remus, are you --? Are you sweet on my cousin?” 

He puffed up his chest, yanking at his tattered collar, a perfect imitation of his father. It was a gesture that was lost on Remus, who had never met the man. “I hope you understand that as the _head_ of the Most Noble House of Black, you would need my express permission in order to court Andromeda. And her husband might object.” 

“Well, Sirius, I'm off,” Remus said, scowling, as he begun to Apparate away. 

“Or perhaps it's young Nymphadora you fancy,” Sirius sang out, the last name earning him Remus’ outraged, flushed face, half-a-second before he winked out of existence. 

*

Regulus ran his fingers, like icicles, down the slope of Sirius’ nose. Sirius groaned and batted him away, his hand going through Regulus’ chest. It was like plunging his hand into a bucket of ice-water. “Wake up,” hissed Regulus. “Sleeping your life away. Hm! At least you have a life.” 

“Fuck off,” Sirius said, now fully awake. He looked up, his eyes tracking the hairline crack that crisscrossed the ceiling. “Why are you here, Regulus? Why not move on?” 

“I'm damned, you idiot. Unfinished business. Dead at eighteen, torn up and fed to the fishes. I'm dead and you're not, why is that?” 

“I,” Sirius said haughtily, “have paid my dues.” 

Regulus made a rude noise and wagged his fingers under Sirius’ nose. “Liar.” 

“What do you __want__ , Regulus?” 

Regulus was silent. Sirius closed his eyes firmly and pretended to go back to sleep. But Regulus said, finally, “You didn't care that I died, did you? You didn't care, not at all.” 

“You were a Death-Eater. You chose that fate.” 

“ _You_ chose to trust Peter Pettigrew.” 

“You bloody bastard, it's not the same.” 

“I didn't say it was,” said Regulus, in an infuriatingly calm voice. “Only that you made mistakes and so did I.” 

“Well,” Sirius said nastily, “if you were so noble in life, then why didn't you warn me about Peter?” 

“Did you take my owls? Did you read my letters? I was nothing to you, Sirius.” 

“You wouldn't have told me anyway.” 

Regulus laughed. It was a strange sound, like the house settling, muttering to itself. As mad as Remus thought Sirius was. “No,” he agreed, “I wouldn't have.” 

*

Sirius watched Regulus watch Harry as the boy opened his presents. Under his breath, Sirius muttered, “Don’t you dare. Don’t you --” 

Harry looked up, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “Is something wrong, Sirius?” 

Nothing at all. 

*

Neither Regulus nor his ghost was real, of course. Just a product of Sirius’ overheated mind, reacting to his return to the place of his unhappy childhood. He was not a regular ghost, not a Nearly-Headless Nick or even the Bloody Baron. 

He was nothing. And just like that, he was gone. 

No bitter whispering, no midnight recriminations. Sirius felt almost deafened at the sudden silence. He caught Kreacher trying to add something to the food the Weasleys had left him and had ranted and roared to an empty house. Only his mother’s portrait left to hear him scream. 

*

Andromeda did come to see him. 

He’d had only an outdated picture of her in his mind, the cousin he’d barely known, a gorgeous and gregarious young woman whom he had followed into disgrace. Now, she was older, her brown hair streaked with gray. But still, her face was a familiar one -- their faces were built along similar lines. 

She had reluctantly stepped over the threshold of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and they had taken tea in the kitchen, the only place in the house (despite the existence of magic) that could get adequately warm. 

Their conversation was stilted; they had not much common ground besides their family ties. Andromeda mostly talked of her daughter’s exploits, Sirius mostly did not talk. Eventually, all attempts to speak were extinguished. 

Andromeda looked fairly miserable, but Sirius hardly noticed that. Social discomfort was rather beyond him now. 

But then she said, apropos of nothing, “When I heard that they brought you back here, I thought it was a terrible idea. When I was a child, I would have nightmares about being left here after a visit. It was such a dreadful place.” 

“And you lived with Bellatrix,” Sirius said, stirring in his seat. 

“Indeed,” Andromeda said. “Mother and Father always did what Aunt and Uncle said.” She sighed. “Your mother came to see me, you know, after Regulus died and you were -- away.” 

“Really?” Sirius leaned in, interested despite himself. He couldn't imagine his mother, wrapped up in furs, strolling through a Muggle neighborhood, even if she stopped to accost people from time to time. 

Andromeda shrugged. 

“Ted was away and I was taking Dora to nursery school when I saw her across the road. Recognized her, of course, no one else would wear a purple robe in broad daylight on a street in Muggle London. My only thought was to -- make sure Dora was all right, whatever happened to me. But she didn't-- she only looked at me like I was remarkably poor stuff, you know. I was so surprised, I'd expected a tongue-lashing at least. Dora, she didn't even look at, which I was grateful for.” 

Andromeda pressed a hand on her face for a moment and drew a breath. Then she collected herself, visibly, and sighed. Sirius, with great deliberateness, placed his hand on hers. 

“If you want Mother to scream at you, her portrait’s in the hall,” he said finally, and Andromeda laughed until she cried. 

They both did, though they both politely declined to acknowledge each other's tears. The work of a lifetime was always difficult to break. 

It was only when she was leaving when Sirius asked her two things. First, did she know if Remus was spending much time with Dora -- Andromeda answered by not answering at all, only lifting her eyebrows and looking both resigned and a little amused.

Second, did she think that -- well, a ghost here would hardly be-- 

“Are you saying you're haunted, Sirius?” Andromeda said sharply. 

“No,” Sirius answered promptly, lying. 

“Well, I wouldn't take any ghosts haunting this place to heart,” she said with a decided nod. “Goodbye, Sirius. Good luck.” 

*

Regulus returned soon after. 

“Miss me yet?” 

A cold finger pressed against Sirius’ lips. 

Sirius groaned. 

He did not say yes. He did not need to. 

*

There was a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix today, and that meant there was finally some life in this old house. Sirius woke before sunrise and tried to clean. He wasn't very good at it -- he spent more time shouting at Kreacher than anything else -- but by the time the other members of the Order had begun to arrive, at least he'd hidden the bottles of Firewhiskey and other more mundane liquor. 

*

Mother’s portrait shouted at him as he passed her and again he wondered why no silencing spell seemed to work on her. She had been a very clever witch in life. No doubt, she had thought of all the ways her sons might wish to silence her. 

Then they had come, the lot of them, Remus and Dora -- who went by Tonks now, thank you -- and even Snape. By now, Sirius was familiar with the low burn of rage that smoldered in his stomach, always threatening to escape, whenever he saw Snape. It was no comfort that Snape hated him as well; it seemed so unfair that Sirius was -- that he had failed so spectacularly, that he was trapped still -- while Snape was free to go about, sneering, back to Hogwarts and teach Harry and his friends, while Sirius withered on the vine.

Across the table, Snape lifted his head and smirked at him. Sirius fought the urge to stick out his tongue. 

The meeting itself was something of a failure, at least for Sirius. His motion to be allowed to go on the raid was quickly tabled, and with that, Sirius got up and left the room, letting the meeting go on without him. 

He was sulking in the library when he heard the door open behind him. “Couldn't stand it either, eh?” Sirius said brightly as he turned, a put-upon smile ready on his face. He was expecting Remus. But instead, he found himself looking at Snape and his smile quickly slid off his face as if it had never been there. 

He had never hated anyone as completely as he hated Snape, not even a murderous twit like Lucius Malfoy. If Sirius allowed himself to think more deeply on it, perhaps he would have found that in a twisted sort of way, he was his parents’ son after all. Snape offended his very being, this grubby little nothing who had gathered up and jealously guarded everything Sirius had been so eager to discard. 

But still. They were on the same side now, at least that was what Dumbledore told him, his eyes twinkling even as his face was grave. _No more of this schoolyard bullying, Sirius. I hope you’ve learned._

Not for the first time, Sirius wondered if Dumbledore, for all his kindness, wisdom and spirit, wasn't simply a terrible disciplinarian. But he didn’t have much time to ponder Dumbledore’s faults, as the silence between Snape and himself grew to unbearable lengths. 

“Well --” Sirius began, but Snape interrupted him.

“Black, if you wish to make some kind of inadequate apology --” 

“I wasn’t,” Sirius said, indignant. 

“Then you shouldn’t exert yourself. There’s nothing I want from you.” 

“Look,” Sirius said, taking a few steps toward Snape. “I don't want to fight with you -” 

“That would be the first-- “ 

“But,” Sirius said, coming closer, until he and Snape were almost nose-to-nose, “But if I hear from Harry or any of his friends that you’ve given them a hard time, then,” he paused, his eyes flicking downward, he saw that Snape had clenched his fist, his other hand hidden in the folds of his robe. No doubt, clutched around his wand. 

But that didn’t mean Sirius couldn’t try his luck. “There’s no power on Earth to stop me from doing to you what I had to. Not even from Azkaban.” 

“You were always a bully at heart, Black, the same as the family you claimed to turn your back on.” 

Their wands were out at the same instant and one of the heavy bookcases near the door came crashing down. Spells began to fly around wildly and Sirius thought, happily, that this was the best time he’d had in years. But it all came to an abrupt halt when the door of the library flew open and Dumbledore peeked in. 

“Gentlemen,” he said gravely (though with the ever-present twinkle of his eyes), “you are missing tea.” 

*

“I never liked him,” Regulus said vehemently, from somewhere around Sirius’ left elbow. They watched Snape leave Grimmauld Place with identical expressions of disdain -- borne out an uneasy sense of guilt on Sirius’ part and something more mysterious on Regulus’. 

“I could have killed him today,” Sirius admitted. “It would have been easier now than it was then.” 

“And you the renegade.” 

“I have before,” Sirius said simply. 

*

He could feel it, time, trickling down to a slow drip. When he had been young, he thought he had vast oceans of it. He'd only have to wait until his real future would reveal itself. When he was very young, he thought he would run away somewhere, take Regulus with him -- if his brother behaved -- and just go. He had gone, but by then his heart had been tied up with everything to do with James. He never had room for anyone else. 

Even when James loved Lily more, even when he married Lily, Sirius thought at least he'd have time with them. He had wanted it so much, wanted to be a tremendously indulgent uncle for Harry, to spoil him rotten. To be a part of their little family, right at the heart of it. 

Sirius wanted, more than anything, to have a family that wasn't based on blood and pride and little else. 

(He saw what happened to Regulus, no time to regret that.) 

But that was the trick of it. 

It was James and Lily who had had no time, and Sirius who had had plenty. Too much time. He should have died instead. Harry -- Harry should have had them. Not him. Not a broken old man. 

In his early days at Azkaban, he had been so numb that he almost would have welcomed the Dementor’s Kiss. It was his fault that James was dead, that Lily was dead and that Harry was cast off to his Muggle relations, to be abused and ignored. 

His fault, and Peter Pettigrew’s. 

*

And then, just like that, it was over. Teetering over the edge, Bellatrix’s spell fizzling against his skin, a sharp, acrid smell. He went through the Veil and thought, disappointedly, that he would never know what kind of man Harry would grow up to be. 

*

It was dark and quiet, beyond the Veil. Being dead among the dead meant that he held no interest to the shades that flitted around him. Except for one.

“You would die in the stupidest way possible, wouldn’t you?” said a familiar voice, next to him. 

“Said the man who was torn apart by fish.” 

“Inferi aren’t fish.” 

They were silent for a long while (or perhaps it was no time at all), until Regulus said tentatively, “Are you going to look for them?” 

“Yes. Of course.” Sirius knew he would look for James and Lily forever, if he had to. “Come on.” 

“I don’t have to,” Regulus said. “I can go on my own. I don’t need you.” 

“You could,” Sirius agreed, surprised by his own reluctance. “And you never have.” 

“And you never cared.” 

“Not true. I wasn’t very -- I wasn’t very good at being a brother. But you weren’t very good at being a person. We both learned too late.” 

“Spare me the lectures,” Regulus sneered. 

But he did not leave. 

And that had to be enough, for now. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the great AmyFortuna for betaing and mild handholding. You are wonderful.
> 
>  
> 
> Title from Placebo.


End file.
